is so unexpected, my heart gasps.
Reaching for my reading glasses,
I look closely at the photo.
You have aged much better than I have.
It is definitely you.
Memories explode like a muted kaleidoscope.
You never fixed the crooked tooth
I always found when we ‘French kissed.’
You gave me kisses like breath, itself.
Pledges and promises unfulfilled.
Time was not our friend.
Letter written, mailed. Received?
Four addresses in six months
as life pushed me here and there
like dandelion fluff in late spring.
Did you write back?
What do I do now?
A friend request.
Have we ever been ‘just’ friends?
What if, no response or worse,
“Who are you?”
I take a sip of cinnamon tea.
Wasn’t that your favorite?
Should I poke the memory honey bee hive
and am I willing to endure the stings
that may come with the gesture.
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